


You want no part of this

by von_gikkingen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Backstory, Character Death Fix, Character under a spell, Complicated Relationships, Dark Magic, F/M, Magic-Users, Out of Character Villain, Warped Personality, Witch Curses, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 01:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “Crazy witch,” he mutters ineffectually as he stares daggers at her. Her calm smile infuriating even as he finds himself regretting she’s standing just far enough for him not to be able to touch her.“At least I’m the real thing, Mysterio.”
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	You want no part of this

**Author's Note:**

> okay so... MCU doesn't do a particularly great job of explaining how magic works... vague on purpose, most likely but... now they sprang witches on us and...  
> ... so this is me trying to imagine what narrative logic we're working with when it comes to people with supernatural powers... 
> 
> I also never need too much of an excuse to bring villains back from the dead... so there's that...

“Whoever is doing your special effects, I want them on my team...”

“The ambient energy of the multiverse is _doing my special effects_ , Quentin” she snaps. “Now shut up and let me heal you.”

He watches her as she does what she just angrily threatened. Quite the sight, that CGI looking outburst of... Was it healing? It hurt almost as bad as the bullets did when they tore through him. A bit worse, maybe. If this was what it took to save his life he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it saved. And he _was_ sure she had no reason to be doing this. Yet here she was, fingers crimson and sticky when they weren’t glowing an eerie blue light. Her face stony, eyes never leaving his too numerous wounds...

He had a terrible suspicion that when this doesn’t work – and it didn’t _feel_ like it was working – she was going to be heartbroken. “Hey... it’s okay... don’t waste your... whatever this is... on me...” he tells her through laboured breaths.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I please, thank you very much,” she says, flashing him a furious look even as the unnatural glow around her blood-stained fingers intensifies. “I have long before you came into my life. Dealt with every man who ever thought he gets to have an opinion on what I do with my powers the way they deserved. Now didn’t I tell you to _shut... up_...?”

There is real venom in her voice. There is also real desperation in her too-dark eyes. Only confirming his earlier suspicion. Whatever she’s doing to his wounds? It is _not_ working.

“Don’t blame yourself. This has... nothing... to do with you. _I_ got myself killed,” Beck says weakly. “That’s all. It was always gonna happen. I was heading... right for this. Wasn’t stopping. Not for anyone.”

If she hears him she doesn’t bother to reply. All her focus on healing him. A lost battle if ever there was one, no matter how strong her powers are. And those _are_ powers. Not just clever illusions but something truly supernatural. _Un_ natural. Something no mere human should be capable of.

It should probably come as more of a surprise but he was not yet over the surprise of her being here. One moment he was on the phone with her, trying to phrase some kind of apology – something brief though, because he _was_ bleeding out rather fast. And then he closed his eyes, just for a moment, only to open them to _this_. To his very angry ex doing something... magical. And how _was_ she doing it? That was a question he didn’t need the answer to, not right now, maybe not ever. That was _not_ the question that mattered.

The real mystery here was _why would she want to?_

He had no idea what possessed her. It wasn’t as though he gave her any reasons to care what happens to him. Plenty to wish to see him die even more slowly and painfully than he currently was – but not a single one to want to do something about the blood soaking his ridiculous wizard costume.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, reaching for one disturbingly glowing hand. She tears it out of his too-weak grasp and keeps on doing whatever it is she’s doing. Desperate to fix this. “There’s nothing I can say to make you... understand... I’m not worth this... is there?” he realizes.

There is no reply. Only the soft, silvery-blue glow emanating from the hands of a woman he did everything to push away. On some level believing there was something fundamentally wrong with him having her in his life in the first place. That she was... Simply not meant for the likes of him.

Was his subconscious aware all along? Of this thing she was, whatever it was. He couldn’t begin to guess. For all he knew she came from Asgard, wasn’t even human. She barely looked the part right now. Her hair wild, her skin made luminous by the spectral lightshow emanating from her hands... eyes darker than black...

Yet she was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, despite that. _Because of it_.

If she was going to be the last thing he was going to see in this life Quentin Beck was going with no regrets.

...

“There’s something you need to know.”

“What did you mean by _ambient energy of the multiverse_ ,” he says, not letting her get any further than that. Ready to talk and not stop talking until this starts making any kind of sense.

Besides, it might just take his mind of the pain.

“I suppose I might as well explain. It's... how our kind of magic works,” she sighs, resigned to having to answer his question.

The one thing she always hated, he remembers. Answering questions. Always changing the subject on the reasons behind why he felt like he had any right to know or what specific thing about her that awoke his curiosity and why was that. And when words weren’t proving enough she had other ways of distracting him from the too many secrets she was keeping. He rarely minded.

It was almost amusing – the look on her face now, in this moment when she couldn’t _not_ give him answers.

“The multiverse is in constant flux. Worlds dying, worlds being born. Transformed. Absorbed by the predatory things that live in places beyond any single dimension. It’s all alive with magic, ripe for the taking. So we take it. To some of us it's as natural as breathing.”

She looks anywhere but at him as the words come, each one a struggle to be spoken. Painfully uncomfortable with revealing these things. “ _We_ take it,” he repeats. “Who’s _we_?”

She does look at him then. Says a word he on some level expected long before he witnessed her use her powers.

“Witches.”

...

“It’s not something you’re born with. You learn. All of this, it _can_ be learned. It’s just that some people have a predisposition. Their minds shaped just a little askew so they take to it more easily. All those counterintuitive things old grimoires want you to believe about the nature of reality. About all the things that lay _beyond_ the reality.”

The words come out slowly, each one a fight. What she’s doing? It shouldn’t be done. He’s certain of it. Revealing these things is not something that’s done.

Not something _a witch_ does...

“It often runs in bloodlines. A child of a witch inheriting the same crooked mind, the same willingness to see reality for what it is rather than what it appears to be on the surface. Most of the time though there is no telling where and when one might come into the world. And if there’s no coven to take her in and teach her she might live an ordinary human life. Her potential for wielding this power going unused,” she says, pausing momentarily before adding. “The world is full of witches that never became what they could have been.”

“But not you. Someone taught you how to... channel the multiverse...” he says, certain he’s phrasing it wrong.

The look she gives him adds to that certainty.

“I intuited a lot by myself by the time anyone noticed what I was. But... yes. I had teachers. Mentors. There’s a lot of people I have to thank to for becoming what I am.”

Something changes in her expression then. Becomes upset. If what she told him so far was hard to force out she is having a real struggle with what is coming next.

“Did you enjoy it? When things got out of hand? When it all turned violent?” she asks, eyes boring into his. “Did you like torturing that boy with your little illusions?”

“What does that have to do with anything...?”

“Just answer.”

“You don’t want to hear...”

“That you had fun?” she says, words soft and so very sad. “That you didn’t just not mind the idea of gunning down a bunch of teenagers, you _loved_ it.”

He watches her, wondering where the hell this could be going. “Is this where you tell me that if a witch has the moral high ground on me I _really_ need to get some help?”

“I don’t have a moral high ground. I’m also the reason you lost yours.”

He takes a moment. Wondering... but, no, she clearly means it exactly how it sounded. “Did you put a spell on me? Is _that_ why I don’t mind a few casualties...?”

“Children. Those were children, not _casualties_.”

Yet there is no judgement in her words, no disgust at his attitude. The words come out toneless and he knows – she’s _not_ calling him a monster. Not exactly. It’s almost like she’s trying to imply the real monster here is herself.

“I’m not saying none of it is your fault. You made choices. But you became the person that found it easy to make _those_ kinds of choices under my influence.”

“Do you really want the credit for...”

“I’m trying to explain something to you, Quentin. And you do deserve an explanation. Because, yes, you have a dark side. Everyone does. Everyone has the capacity to commit terrible things. And the capacity to keep themselves from acting on those dark impulses,” she says, her expression guilty and impossibly sad. “You were a workplace massacre waiting to happen back when you worked for Stark Industries. But you _didn’t act on it_ , no matter how much you wanted to. You kept it from taking over. You knew how then.”

“You still don’t get the credit. I lost it because I lost it. One day the dam just broke. That’s how it happens to everyone. The reason there _are_ workplace massacres. People keep themselves in check, hold it all inside where it festers and then, one day...”

“You’re not wrong,” she interrupts. “That is how things go with most people. But not you. You could have held it in check forever. Could have remained a decent person. One with demons, true, but not someone that lets them win. That’s how the story could have gone. There might not have been a _Mysterio_ if...”

“If only I never met you?” he says, guessing where she’s going. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy with this version of events.”

“You...” she starts, though no more words come. The sheer disbelief at what she’s hearing keeps her from finding any.

“I never said it, did I? But you must have known. You were one of the better things in my life. Maybe that’s why I wanted you out of it so badly.”

“Just being near me was poisoning your mind,” she says. Slowly. Carefully. Making sure the words can’t be misheard or misinterpreted. “I’m the reason you nearly died today.”

“I’m the reason I nearly died today. Though, okay, credit where it’s due – Peter had a little something to do with it I guess,” he says through a mirthless smile. “I don’t remember _you_ being around when the bullets were flying.”

When she speaks next the words don’t seem to be meant for him. She sounds like she’s merely thinking out loud. Wondering. “Maybe it’s worse than I thought. Could you have actually lost your mind...?”

“I did try to convince the world I’m a wizard so I can get my hands on advanced weapons. Which probably answers _that_ question. One way or another.”

She gives him a look that tells him just how funny she finds _that_. Well, he can appreciate it for the bad joke it is anyway.

In fact this is _the_ moment to appreciate all the bad jokes his life consists of. The fact he never noticed he was dating someone with actual magical powers, then proceeded to use holograms to convince the world that’s what he had. _Magic_. Something so improbable...

Something that happened to be the only reason he was still alive.

“You don’t have to believe me. You were owed an explanation and I gave you one and...”

“You didn’t, actually. Not... really. I asked if you put a spell on me. You didn’t answer.”

“It wasn’t a spell.”

“Well a curse then,” he says, making a face. “Sorry. Not familiar with the lingo. Literally just found out witches were real a few minutes ago.”

She says nothing. The silence makes him appreciate the words he just said, the tone in which he said them. Was he always so quick to snap at people...?

“It’s not a curse. It’s _me_. Sometimes we just... become conduits for specific type of magic. Have something that’s just... _our thing_. I can’t tell you why. I can’t tell you why Agatha Harkness takes the powers of others. Can’t tell you why the sorcerers use forces of other dimensions in a way that doesn’t corrupt them the way it does us. Why they never become predisposed to a specific type of magic and witches almost always do. I did,” she says, her voice small. Sad. “It’s not some spell I consciously cast it’s... just what the world around me becomes. My presence is enough. Always warping things. Pushing them towards acting on their potential for... evil.”

She doesn’t sound like she’s certain that’s the word. And maybe it’s not, not quite. It is a word that will do, though.

“People start fidning their morality so much more flexible whenever I get involved," she says through a bitter smile. "It’s like a I’m siren luring them into the darkness.”

“A siren,” he repeats, unable and unwilling to hide his incredulity.

There is no answer. No acknowledgement he spoke. She just retreats into herself, the way she sometimes would. Rendering herself unreachable. Making him want to try to reach her all the more.

But what was there to say? There was no absolving her of whatever blame she might have had for the things he’s been doing lately. He believed he was fully in control and responsible for every despicable and, yes, _evil_ thing he did in order to get revenge on a dead man. But then he didn’t know the first thing about magic and... it was tempting. To place the blame on someone else, just like that. To be able to claim he was merely under a spell, he would never have done any of those things if he was the one in control...

“You don’t have to believe me. I know what I am. I know how many lives are worse off for becoming a part of mine. Yours is just the latest.”

Hard to find a reply to that. It’s not what she's saying as much as _how_ she's saying it. No combination of words will ever make her free of the burden of guilt she bears.

He doesn’t try. Not when there's something else that needs saying... 

“But that’s not why you saved me.”

“Don’t read too much into that,” she scoffs. “Guilty conscience can make you do crazy things.”

...

It _was_ a crazy thing. Wasting effort on prolonging a life like his. Adding yet more days they both knew he’ll only ever use to make things worse. For himself. For everyone around him.

Maybe her siren powers were what sent him down this path and she deserved exactly as much blame as she seemed to think she did – but assigning blame did no good. Whatever made the darkness come out hardly mattered now that is was not going anywhere.

There were angry, venomous words forever on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t angry at her, either. Just... angry. No longer knew how not to be. He would go from being disgusted with the world around him to being darkly amused by it with no warning. Hating every second of his improbable second chance at life even as he couldn’t help clinging to it. Falling into the same patterns of pushing her away in a thousand small ways _because_ he was unworthy of everything from being saved in the first place to her continuous presence in his life. Her care, even if it was a result of guilt rather than any other emotion, upset him. The fact he relied on it while he healed upset him. He wanted her gone. He wanted this _witch_ out of his life before she did any more damage. He wanted...

He _desperately_ wanted to forget she was who he wanted to hear to when he was certain he was dying.

“What happens when I can actually make sudden motions without my wounds reopening?” he ends up asking, bringing an end to quiet, almost peaceful moment one afternoon. “What law enforcement agency we’ll be calling? Or have you not decided yet?”

She only utters a long-suffering sigh before meeting his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re punished. That’s why I never interfered no matter how often you made the news.”

“So... what? I’ll be free to go. Free to try kill some more innocent little teenagers?”

There is that dark amusement again. Everything about this is so damn funny. But it’s gallows humour – and what other kind can there be. There’s something on the brink of dying between them.

The reason he called her. The reason she came. He’s been trying to kill what was left of it for days now...

“I know what you’re doing. I let you do it the last time. I’m not going to make that mistake again,” she says in level tone of someone who is _not_ going to stoop to his level. “You want me where you can hurt me but you want me out of your life even more. Because I make it better. And because you don’t deserve better and deep down you know that. And so I have to leave, right? And if you just find the right words to hurt me with that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Her words leave him with no reply he can make. The way she puts all his never-spoken thoughts into words. The way she just stops short of promising him he can try as much as he likes, she’s not going anywhere. And it’s not the guilt that’s making her want to stay, either. It’s not the things her magic did to him that motivate her. It’s just... him. The imperfect person he is, always was, long before any blame could have been placed on her powers. _That’s_ what’s making her want to stay.

“Crazy witch,” he mutters ineffectually as he stares daggers at her. Her calm smile infuriating even as he finds himself regretting she’s standing just far enough for him not to be able to touch her.

“At least I’m the real thing, _Mysterio_.”

He can only glare. All the venom that’s forever rising in him like a dark tide focusing on her. As though she’s the only thing in the world worth such hate. Or maybe the fact that he _doesn’t_ hate her is. The fact that he doesn’t know how to. Not her. She’s everything he never wanted to lose.

And now she's back in his life and she just stopped short of promising that was how things were going to stay.

“Oh, what...? No comeback?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

He swallows all the angry, venomous things he wants to yell at her. Settling on a very tired, “Just go. You want no part of this,” instead.

She smiles and for a moment it seems like that might be the only reply he’s going to get. “I want _every part of this_ ,” she says. “And good luck trying to change my mind about that.”


End file.
